The days passed on quickly enough at Deerchase, but not very
satisfactorily. Skelton took eagerly to the racing scheme, and, with
a little diplomacy on each side, a match was arranged for the spring
meeting between Jaybird and Alabaster. Skelton himself did not appear
at all in the transaction; it was conducted solely between Miles
Lightfoot, the factotum, and Blair himself. With superior judgment
to Blair, Skelton did not by any means regard the match as settled;
he preferred to wait until it was run. But he took the most intense
interest in it, and the thought of paying Blair off for his folly and
presumption was agreeable enough to him. Then, this new amusement gave
him something to do, for the work that he would have done continually
eluded him. He spent many solitary hours in the great, beautiful
library with piles of books and manuscript before him, and when a
knock came at the door he was apt to be found pen in hand, as if hard
at work. But many of those solitary hours were spent in a horrible
idleness--horrible because he felt the time was slipping by and nothing
was being done.
Not even Bulstrode knew of those long days of depression, or that Miles
Lightfoot, with his swagger and his continual boasting that Blair was
to be driven off the turf altogether, was in the nature of a relief
to an overstrained mind. Miles Lightfoot was a continual offense to
Bulstrode, who was disgusted at seeing books and papers and everything
swept off the library table to make room for racing calendars and all
of Miles’s paraphernalia.
As for Lewis, his mind seemed to have taken a sudden start. He had been
thrown with Skelton as he never had been before in his life, and from a
dim wonder what Skelton’s position to him was, came another wonder as
to his own position at Deerchase.
Apparently nothing could be more fixed or agreeable. The servants
called him “little marse,” and seemed to regard him as their future
master; he had the run of the house, the stables, the gardens, and
nobody questioned his right. But Skelton was not only no relation to
him, but not even his guardian. And then he had not made friends with
any boy in the county, except Hilary Blair, and Hilary never came to
Deerchase, nor had he ever been to Newington. Indeed, as Lewis thought,
with tears starting to his eyes, the only real friend he had in the
world was Sylvia Shapleigh. Her kindness made a powerful impression
upon his affectionate nature. He loved her the more because he had
so few things to love. He sometimes determined that he would ask Mr.
Bulstrode, or perhaps even Mr. Skelton, why he had no boy friends, but
he never did it when he thought he would.
Bulstrode had taken a great interest in Mrs. Blair, partly from
curiosity about the woman who had dared to jilt Richard Skelton, and
partly from a reason connected with that preposterous will of the late
Mrs. Skelton--for Elizabeth Blair was Skelton’s only near relative.
The interest had been followed by a real esteem for her, due chiefly
to a remark made quite innocently when Bulstrode went to Newington one
evening. Mrs. Blair was teaching Hilary his Latin lesson, while Blair,
who was a university man, guyed her unmercifully as he lay stretched
out in a great chair.
“When did you learn Latin, my dear madam?” asked Bulstrode, with a
benevolent grin.
“Ah, Mr. Bulstrode, I never learned Latin at all,” answered Mrs. Blair,
with a smile and a blush; “I learned a few nouns and verbs long years
ago, and now that I must teach Hilary, I have furbished them up a
little for his benefit.”
Her modesty pleased Bulstrode, who was disgusted by any assumption of
learning.
“Now, my boy,” he said to Hilary, “do you like Latin?”
“First rate,” answered Hilary sturdily. “Like it better’n any lesson
I’ve got. Wish I could read it like you do, Mr. Bulstrode.”
Bulstrode was delighted.
“My dear Mrs. Blair,” he cried, turning to her, “you have done more
than I could do--you have made the boy like the undying language. If I
could only do that with Lewis Pryor! The boy is bright enough--bright
enough--but he wants to be reading modern histories and romances all
the time.”
Mrs. Blair coloured slightly at the mention of Lewis Pryor. She knew
all about the surreptitious friendship between the two boys, and if
Blair would have allowed it she would have had Lewis at Newington
sometimes. But Blair swore it should not be. For want of something
better to say, she asked:
“How are you all coming on at Deerchase?”
“Deuced badly,” answered Bulstrode, with candid disapproval. “Nothing
but the damnable races, morning, noon, and night. Do you know Miles
Lightfoot?”
Mrs. Blair gave a little shudder.
“Yes, I know him,” she answered.
“The fellow was born a gentleman and bred one, I hear,” continued
Bulstrode with energy, “but rides for pay in any sort of a race that he
can get a mount. I ain’t a gentleman myself, Mrs. Blair, but I know one
when I see him, and Miles Lightfoot has ceased to be a gentleman these
ten years past. Well, he’s fairly domiciled at Deerchase. He is in
charge of the Deerchase stable. Instead of Bulstrode and the library,
Skelton is all for Lightfoot and the stables. Don’t know what made our
friend Skelton take up this craze, but he’s got it, and he’s got an
object in it.”
“What is his object?” timidly asked Mrs. Blair--the boy had gone off
then with his book, and was engaged in a good-natured teasing contest
with his father. Blair’s children adored him, and thought him precisely
their own age.
“I’m dashed if I know,” cried Bulstrode, rumpling up his shock of
grizzly, unkempt hair. “But that he’s got an object-- Lord, Mrs. Blair,
did you ever know Richard Skelton to do anything without an object?”
“It has been a good many years since I knew anything of Richard
Skelton,” she said, with pretty hypocrisy; at which Bulstrode roared
out his great, vulgar, good-natured “Haw! haw! haw!”
“Mr. Blair called at Deerchase when Mr. Skelton returned, and Mr.
Skelton has paid me one visit, when he stayed exactly twenty minutes.”
But all the time her heart was beating painfully. She knew Skelton’s
object--it was, to ruin her husband. Bulstrode kept up his haw-hawing.
“You wouldn’t marry Skelton, ma’am, and you showed your sense. There
are worse men than he in the world, but if I were a woman I’d rather
marry the devil himself than Richard Skelton.”
“But he got on very well with his first wife, didn’t he?” asked Mrs.
Blair, with all a woman’s curiosity.
“O Lord, yes! She worshipped the ground he trod on. It’s the most
curious thing, the way human affairs always go contrary. Skelton,
although he is a rich man, was disinterestedly loved, because his
fortune was nothing to his wife’s--and he had no rank to give her. But
she was an Honourable in her own right. And, stranger still, I believe
he was disinterested in marrying her. I always said he did it to spite
her family. She had a lot of toploftical relations--she was related
to half the peerage and all the baronetage--and they got to hectoring
her about Skelton’s attentions, when I do assure you, madam, I don’t
think he had any notion of falling in love with her. They tried to
hector Skelton. Great powers of heaven! You can just imagine how the
scheme worked, or rather how it didn’t work!” Here Bulstrode winked
portentously. “The lady was her own mistress and could control every
stiver of her money, and one fine morning she walked off to church
and married Skelton without any marriage settlement! When it was done
and over, the great folks wanted to make friends with him, but Skelton
wouldn’t have it at all. He held his own with the best of ’em. One
secret of Skelton’s power is that he don’t give a damn for anybody.
Skelton’s a gentleman, you know. Then the poor young woman was taken
ill, and her relations got to bothering her with letters about what she
was going to do with her money. Mrs. Skelton used to try and talk to
Skelton about it--I was with him then--but he would get up and go out
of the room when she mentioned the subject. He’s a very delicate-minded
man where money is concerned. And then she sent for her lawyers, and
they made her a will, madam, which she signed, after having made some
alterations in it with her own hand. And such a will as it turned out
to be! Lord, Lord, Lord!”
Bulstrode rose and walked about the room excitedly. Mrs. Blair watched
him breathlessly. Blair had stopped his play with Hilary, and was
listening with all his ears. When the string of Bulstrode’s tongue was
unloosed he usually stopped at nothing. But now he was restrained. He
had gone as far as he dared, but he looked hard at Mrs. Blair, and said:
“You are Skelton’s nearest relative--ain’t you, madam?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Blair, in a low voice. “I am his first cousin--and
I am the last of my family.”
“Lord, Lord, Lord!” shouted Bulstrode again, then relapsed into
silence, and suddenly burst into his great laugh. Mrs. Blair felt
uncomfortable and perplexed, and Blair got up and left the room.
Bulstrode said no more of Skelton, and went back to his grievances
about the racing, and then took up the Latin grammar again. Mrs. Blair,
who had a very just estimate of her own knowledge of Latin, had an
inordinately high one of Blair’s acquirements in that respect.
“You know, Mr. Bulstrode,” she said, “Mr. Blair is really a very fine
scholar. He was quite a distinguished Latinist when he was at William
and Mary.”
Bulstrode sniffed openly at Blair’s scholarship and William and Mary.
“Then he ought to teach your boy, ma’am. I swear, Mrs. Blair, it addles
my brain sometimes when I see the beauty and splendour of the passion
you women bestow on your husbands and children.”
Mrs. Blair’s face flushed a little, and a beautiful angry light burned
in her eyes, as it always did at the slightest implication that Blair
was not perfect.
“Luckily for me,” she said, with a little arrogant air, “my husband and
children are worthy of it. All that I know of unworthy husbands and
children is about other women’s husbands and children.”
“Yes, yes,” eagerly assented Bulstrode, and then went off again on the
subject of his grievances about Miles Lightfoot and the races, and even
that Lewis Pryor was getting too fond of the stables and stayed there
too much, and he meant to speak to Skelton about it.
Bulstrode left Mr. and Mrs. Blair under the impression that there was
some queer complication connected with the late Mrs. Skelton’s money,
with which they were mixed up, and it gave rise naturally to much
speculation on their part.
They talked it over a great deal, but they had nothing positive to go
upon. Elizabeth, womanlike, tried to dismiss it from her mind, and
the more so when she saw that Blair was deeply pondering it. At all
events, Skelton would keep his own until his death, for neither of them
believed he would marry again; and as he was not quite forty--some
years younger than Blair himself--it was idle to think too much about
what was so far in the future.
Bulstrode was as good as his word about Lewis Pryor, and the very next
day made his complaint about Lewis to Skelton.
“Send him to me,” said Skelton briefly.
In due time Lewis stood before Skelton in the library, through whose
diamond-paned windows the woods and fields glowed beautifully under the
red December sun. Skelton began in his calm, reasonable voice:
“Lewis, Mr. Bulstrode tells me that you spend most of your time with
Yellow Jack and the stablemen, instead of at your books. How is this?”
“Because, sir,” answered Lewis, “I am very fond of horses, and I’m not
doing any harm down at the stables.”
Skelton turned and faced the boy, whose tone was perfectly respectful,
but it was that of one disposed to argue the point. As Lewis’s eyes
met his, Skelton was struck by their beauty--they were so deeply, so
beautifully black, and the very same idea came into Lewis’s mind--“What
black, black eyes Mr. Skelton has!”
Skelton’s memory went back twenty-five years. How wonderfully like was
the little scamp’s coolness to his own in the bygone days, when old Tom
Shapleigh would come over to rail and bluster at him!
“At present,” continued Skelton, smiling a little, “horses and horse
racing cannot take up a great deal of your time. It is your business to
fit yourself for your manhood. You have every advantage for acquiring
the education of a gentleman. Bulstrode, with all his faults, is the
best-educated man I ever met; and, besides, it is my wish, my command,
that you shall be studious.”
“But, Mr. Skelton,” said Lewis, with strange composure, and as if
asking a simple question, “while I know you are very generous to me,
why do you command me? Mr. Bulstrode is my guardian.”
The boy’s audacity and the shock of finding that his mind had begun
to dwell on his status at Deerchase, completely staggered Skelton.
Moreover, Lewis’s composure was so inflexible, his eyes so indomitable,
that he all at once seemed to reach the mental stature of a man.
Skelton was entirely at a loss how to answer him, and for a moment the
two pairs of black eyes, so wonderfully alike, met in an earnest gaze.
“I cannot explain that to you now,” answered Skelton after a little
pause; “but I think you will see for yourself that at Deerchase I must
be obeyed. Now, in regard to your continual presence at the stables, it
must stop. I do not forbid you to go, altogether, but you must go much
less than you have been doing, and you must pay more attention to your
studies. You may go.”
Lewis went out and Skelton returned to his books. But he was strangely
shaken. That night he said to Bulstrode, after Lewis had gone to bed:
“What promise there is in the boy! I don’t mean promise of genius--God
forbid! he will write no Voices of the People at nineteen--but of great
firmness of character and clearness of intellect.”
“I don’t see why you are so down on genius,” said Bulstrode, not
without latent malice. “You were always reckoned a genius yourself.”
“That is why I would not have Lewis reckoned one mistakenly, as I
have been. There is something not altogether human about genius; it
is always a miracle. It places a man apart from his fellows. He is an
immortal among mortals. He is a man among centaurs. Give a man all the
talent he can carry, but spare him genius if you would have him happy.
There must be geniuses in the world, but let not Lewis Pryor be one of
them, nor let him--let him be falsely reckoned one!”